The demon was still breathing.
Barely.
Its chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven motions, every inhale accompanied by a wet gurgle as blackened blood bubbled up through shattered ribs.
Its once-proud frame was broken, limbs bent at wrong angles, demonic essence leaking uncontrollably like smoke from cracked stone.
Damien didn't rush.
He stood over it, watching, waiting. Experience had taught him that demons were at their most dangerous when they appeared defeated. He crouched slightly, eyes narrowing, and pressed his foot down. It wasn't hard, just enough to feel resistance against the demon's sternum.
The demon groaned.
Good.
"You can still speak," Damien said calmly. "If you couldn't, I'd already be done."
The demon's cracked lips twitched upward into something resembling a smile. "You… humans… always so thorough."
